Panic
by SpiderFangWolverine123
Summary: "He kept seeing her everywhere. But only in pieces. Only enough to remind him of everything that he had lost." In the after math of his mother's death, Stiles finds himself gripped by Panic. It takes his best friend and brother to pull him away. One-shot focused on Stiles and Scott's unbreakable bond.
Stiles was drowning.

It was interesting how he could drown, without being in water. How he could flounder for breath, feeling his lungs squeeze, and still feel the open air surrounding him. Because that's what was happening. He was drowning.

He had to be. He didn't see how else he could gasp for breath, only to feel the burning in his chest increase.

 _Panic attack._ He managed to remember. This had to be a panic attack.

He couldn't remember what had set it off this time. It could've been his English teacher. She always wore the same flowery perfume as his mother had. Or, it could have been the sound of the secretary's voice over the intercom. She had the same lilting melodic voice.

He kept seeing his mother everywhere. But only in pieces. Only enough to remind him of everything that he had lost.

He tried to slow his breathing, but the thought of his mother pushed him further into the void of fear, and he lurched up from the ground, trying to escape the choking tightness in his chest.

He fell back against the cool lockers, hyperventilating. He spun so that his forehead was pressed against the chilling metal, and tried to focus on that. The icy lockers, freezing his skin on contact, just like the ice cubes that his mother used to give him to cool down on sweltering summers…

Stiles groaned as grief slammed his chest like a sledgehammer, and tears sprung to his eyes. With that, he recalled what had started this particular attack. He remembered nearly sleeping in math class, dozing at the back of the room. He remembered chuckling at his absolute stupidity when it came to math, and resolved to do the rest of the work at home, where his mother could help-

And then he had remembered. She couldn't help. She was dead.

He had lurched up from his desk, mumbling something about feeling sick as he stumbled from the class. Then he had wandered down the hallway, moving to keep the sadness from overwhelming him. It hadn't worked.

Stiles struggled for breath, and he heard a sob spring from his lips. He had to get this under control. He couldn't let people see him like this. He couldn't show them how much it hurt, every day, every minute.

So he made all the jokes, all the comments that usually earned him a detention. A false front was all he had left. If that failed, he was only the kid whose mom died a few months ago, who cried himself to sleep at night, who had panic attacks remembering his mother, who found it harder and harder to plaster on a smile each day.

Stiles didn't think his father knew how bad it was. He knew that Stiles missed his mother of course, but Stiles had hidden the panic attacks, the nightmares, the constant ache that never seemed to fade. He was afraid that if his father knew, if anyone knew, his carefully constructed facade would crumble around him, and he would be consumed by his grief.

"Stiles?" A voice echoed from around the corner, footsteps tapping against the linoleum.

 _No._ Stiles inwardly moaned. _Not Scott. Anyone but Scott._

Stiles frantically tried to pull himself together, but the fear of Scott finding him sent him spiraling down further into the panic. Stiles pressed his hands against his head, trying to slow his breathing, coming from him in sporadic gasps.

"Stiles!"

Stiles had his eyes clenched shut, but he heard his friend crouch down beside him. Scott placed a steady hand on his arm. Stiles opened his eyes for a moment, and saw Scott's wide, fearful eyes.

"What's wrong, Stiles?" Scott asked. "What happened?"

Stiles shook his head. "Can't breathe," He managed, trying to pull a long breath into his lungs.

Scott shifted, looking down the hallway hesitantly. "Should… Should I go get the nurse?"

Stiles immediately shook his head, grabbing his friends sleeve to keep him from leaving. "Panic attack - wouldn't help," He gasped, closing his eyes again so that he wouldn't have to see the pity in Scott's eyes.

The hand on Stiles arm didn't falter, but tightened supportively. "It's okay, Stiles." Scott murmured in a low voice. "I'm here."

Stiles focused on the pressure from Scott's hand pressing into his arm. Scott kept murmuring quietly, talking about nothing and everything. Anything to keep Stiles distracted.

Slowly, the pain subsided in his chest. He felt his breathing slow, and the dizziness faded. He relaxed, sitting back against the lockers. Stiles kept his eyes closed, shame coloring his face.

"I didn't want you to see that," Stiles said in a low voice. He opened his eyes, but kept his gaze on the floor.

"Does that happen often?" Scott asked, his voice quiet.

Now that the panic was gone, Stiles felt numb, as if in the absence of despair, there were no emotions left that he could feel. In some dull, empty part of his mind, he considered lying. Telling Scott it rarely happened, if ever. But there wasn't much of a point.

So, without a word, Stiles nodded.

There was a tense silence. Stiles waited. Waited for the pity, the sympathy. Waited for Scott to tell Stiles that his father should know about this. Waited to look up and see the tight eyes, the ones that feigned sympathy, but were really just judgemental and pitiful.

Silently, Scott shifted so that he sat next to Stiles. There was another pause, another moment where Scott didn't say a word.

"You want to go home?" He finally asked easily, looking over at his friend.

Stiles shook his head, though he smiled slightly at the gesture. "My dad's at home." _And he can't see me like this._ The words were unspoken, but Stiles knew that Scott understood.

"Let's go to my house, then. My mom's working a double shift until late tonight." Scott offered. "We can play video games and eat chips as long as you like."

Stiles turned his head, frowning in confusion. Scott wasn't exactly a model student, but he cared about his mother a lot. He tried, for her sake. He stayed (for the most part) out of trouble, he attended classes, he kept his grades acceptable. He definitely _didn't_ play hooky with his best friend. But somehow, he was willing to skip class and risk his mother's disappointment today. Because of Stiles. Scott raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Tempting." Stiles said with a laugh, and then froze. It was the first time that he had genuinely laughed since… since his mother died.

"C'mon," Scott said, pulling Stiles to his feet. "Let's just go! We could go out to the woods, or hang out at the park, or just stay in the dark at my house. But we are not staying here."

"Won't your mom kill you when she finds out?"

Scott shrugged. "Probably." He cracked a grin, and pulled Stiles forward, walking toward the front of the building. Stiles trailed behind Scott, smiling slightly.

In light of everything that he had lost, there were days where the devastation threatened to overwhelm him, days where he didn't know what he stuck around for. Days where he didn't understand why it was worth living in a world with so much pain.

But talking to Scott, it pushed back the darkness. Made the bad days not so bad. And made him feel like maybe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, something beyond all this that made it okay.

Stiles knew that this wasn't going to be the only struggle that he went through, or Scott. There would be hard times, and Stiles knew that neither of them could predict those times. But if there was one thing that Stiles knew for sure, it was that they would be there for each other, through thick and thin, no matter how bad things got.

Because he and Scott weren't just best friends. They were brothers, in every way except for blood. And neither would abandon the other.


End file.
